The Seventeenth Night
by Autunm Lilac
Summary: These are my "other" DGM fanfics.
1. Chapter 1

Rock-A-Bye

Lullaby

_Rock-A-Bye Baby…_

There was nothing but a point of light, solitary and cold in the nothing. The point shrank and grew; pulsating to its own slow, soft beat. Then it winked out. Nothing ruled.

Bing

The ripples spread outward, bright and growing brighter as it roared away from the point. Silence prevailed, but the light grew and grew, becoming as light so to be dark again. However this darkness was the darkness of something, the darkness you get when there is no light to see, rather than the darkness of nothing at all. It was a warm and hidden darkness, rather than the frigid nothing. Here, there was something.

_In the tree tops…_

The gloomy, dank ground was covered in crackling leaves. The multitude of fragments seemed to glow. Purple, Green, Brown, Black. All of the colors danced in the wind and flew away, leaving behind the crumbling island of thick dark dirt where the mother tree stood, bowed by age and the train of the sky. In her curled branches, a cradle lay, the baby inside crying.

_When the wind blows…_

From one of the branches, another leaf crackled and fell slowly to the waiting earth, only to be swept up and thrown against the warn granite of a gravestone by the impatient wind. Upon the grave, the name etched deep into the cracking surface was clearly visible, even in the shadowy light. Mana Walker.

_The cradle will rock…_

But now, the young child had changed to a boy, his brown hair falling into his swollen eyes as he continued to weep; the only sound other than his sobs was the creak of the branches, unable to comfort the child, and the whispering of the soft breeze though the broken twigs.

_When the bow breaks…_

Again and again the change in the child occurred, until the boy had the white hair of an elderly man, but the body of someone younger. Gray-blue eyes observed the grave bellow as tears fell from the branches to moisten the ground bellow.

_The cradle will fall…_

"Mana…" The voice echoed out into the pressing darkness kept at bay by the mother tree as a blood-red hand reached up to cover the dark pit which paraded as an eye.

"I'm sorry, Mana…" The voice was weak, as though frightened by everything around it that it could feel, by the welling emotions that writhed and fought, never to be shared.

"Please, Mana…" The words meant nothing but the emotion behind them.

"Forgive me, Father."

_And down will come baby, cradle and all…_


	2. Chapter 2

Blood Rose

Blood Rose

Blood, which is the delightful liquor, more intoxicating than alcohol, more worshiped than god. It is this substance that drives all life and forces all thoughts and feelings. Blood. Delicious ruby droplets. More precious than life.

_Good evening, and good night, with roses adorned…_

To many and to all the darkest of red roses symbolizes love, lust, the strive for bodily needs. The ultimate picture of beauty. That is the rose to us. Something to be worshiped rather than loved. Something to denote the feelings in a way that simple words cannot.

_With carnations covered, slip under the covers…_

Carnage, all around, strewn across the blood-soaked ground; Limbs, clothing, tatters of flesh, all unrecognizable under the coating of blood. And standing above them, although not beyond, the sole survivor, his mind gone like those bellow him.

_Early tomorrow, if God wills, you will wake once again…_

The eternal slumber, never to wake and open their eyes to the bright world. Forever hidden in the work of black and white. No faces were to be seen. They no longer had identities, for they were vessels, unthinking, unseeing, not feeling and incapable of emotions. They were weapons. Now useless.

_Early tomorrow, if God wills, you will wake once again…_

And so the war had been fought with white to save black.

_Good evening, and good night. By angels watched…_

But the survivor stood, ruby droplets catching the light as they fell splattered on the already sodden earth. Dull eyes watched a point in the sky, waiting for something that only they knew and could see. Another drop fell, and then the slow rustling began.

_Who show you in your dream the Christ-child's tree…_

The war had been fought and won at the price of the weapons.

_Sleep now peacefully and sweetly, see the paradise in your dream..._

Where the blood had fallen, black blood roses grew, their fragrance blocking out the smell of death. The pungent odor that never left the mind, that woke in the night because the smell came back. Straight stalks, thorns abundant rose from the earth, their pattern recognizable if unwanted.

_Sleep now peacefully and sweetly, see the paradise in your dream…_

The broken arm was held out, blood coating blood and falling onto the pure white petals of the tallest flower. Fingers extended and the burned skin stretched and popped, tearing where it could no longer take the strain, but the pain could not be felt. The mind had descended to the level of those bellow. 

_Guten Abend, gute Nacht, mit Rosen bedacht…_

Only a single thought remained in the head of those that were dead, echoing out thought sightless eyes that would never see again. Real gods demanded blood. And blood had been paid. But, did they have to die?

_Mit Näglein besteckt, schlüpf unter die Deck…_

The blood splattered onto the innocent petals of the white rose, which had been born from the blood and flesh of the dead and gone. Pitiable eyes stared at their own silent horror before turning up toward the churning heaves.

_Morgen früh, wenn Gott will, wirst du wieder geweck…_

The broken white of the rose mocked the splintered remains of his appendage, and the rage which had been hidden bellow for so long bubbled, longing to be released toward the living thing. Rage and sorrow for those who had left him. Left him alone in the cold world.

_Morgen früh, wenn Gott will, wirst du wieder geweckt…_

Before any action could be taken, the rose wilted and faded before the dead eyes of the silent crowd, never to be given its applause. Never allowed an encore. It had been stripped of life like they had. Maliciously, and for the price of God.

_Guten Abend, gute Nacht, von Englein bewacht…_

Gone, as they had. Before him. The arm which had brought them all to their demise reached up to the boiling heaven and a silent, agonizing cry pierced though the thoughtless minds of the dead. Why them?

_Die zeigen im Traum, dir Christkindleins Baum…_

The blood roses began to fade away into nothing as well, their petals dropping silently to the ground, soaking in blood before they disappeared from view forever more.

_Schlaf nun selig und süß, schau im Traum 's Paradies…_

And so the war had been fought for Blood and Roses.

_Schlaf nun selig und süß, schau im Traum 's Paradies…_


	3. Chapter 3

The Cross to Oblivion

The Cross to Oblivion

The cross to oblivion stood above them all; a looming form of cold iron that cast its smothering shadow over the world. At the base of the giant and in the shadow of the gray lord the coffins stood.

_Huna blentyn yn fy mynwes _

_Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon; _

_Breichiau mam sy'n dynn amdanat, _

_Cariad mam sy dan fy mron; _

_Ni cha' dim amharu'th gyntun, _

_Ni wna undyn â thi gam; _

_Huna'n dawel, annwyl blentyn, _

_Huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam_.

Nailed to the open lids were silver crosses, less ornate than their inspiration that now presided over them, which glittered and shone even in the darkest of shadows because shadows were nothing more than soft light.

Open coffins awaiting occupants.

_Sleep my baby, at my breast, _

'_Tis a mother's arms round you. _

_Make yourself a snug, warm nest. _

_Feel my love forever new. _

_Harm will not meet you in sleep, _

_Hurt will always pass you by. _

_Child beloved, always you'll keep, _

_In sleep gentle, mother's breast nigh._

When day fled to be replaced by chilly night, and when the ground was soaked though and wet to the touch from the tears of the sky, the procession began.

_Huna'n dawel, heno, huna, _

_Huna'n fwyn, y tlws ei lun; _

_Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenu, _

_Gwenu'n dirion yn dy hun? _

_Ai angylion fry sy'n gwenu, _

_Arnat ti yn gwenu'n llon, _

_Tithau'n gwenu'n ôl dan huno, _

_Huno'n dawel ar fy mron_?

Lightning arced gracefully across the sky, earthling itself in the great iron cross so that sparks leapt from point to point, laughing and racing toward the ground, oblivious to the hellish scene that was taking place bellow.

The thunderous roar of rain pounded against the eardrums, blocking out the pitiful screams that rose from the gathered crowd. Wailing and moans mixed with the yelling, but it was blocked out by the tremendous downpour of rain. The sky was crying. Crying for the fallen, and the sorrow of those left. Crying for the day when this would all end.

Today was not that day.

Perhaps because the sky was crying, perhaps because the world had ended, perhaps because they could not continue on without something to look for, something to hope for, but today most stood silent, their heads bowed and eyes cast toward the swirling mud rather than up at the sky and at their lord.

_Sleep in peace tonight, sleep, _

_O sleep gently, what a sight. _

_A smile I see in slumber deep, _

_What visions make your face bright? _

_Are the angels above smiling, _

_At you in your peaceful rest? _

_Are you beaming back while in _

_Peaceful slumber on mother's breast?_

When the crowd opened up, forming two groups with a line down the center, everyone present knew it had begun.

_Paid ag ofni, dim ond deilen _

_Gura, gura ar y ddôr; _

_Paid ag ofni, ton fach unig _

_Sua, sua ar lan y môr; _

_Huna blentyn, nid oes yma _

_Ddim i roddi iti fraw; _

_Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes _

_Ar yr engyl gwynion dra._

Struggling to fight a lost battle, the faceless forms were dragged along, their once brilliant robes now sodden and filthy, reminders of a past that needed to be buried. Hidden. Burt from history. That was what the faceless warriors were. Excess that needed to be gotten rid of, but powerful excess. Dangerous in their own right.

Some of them were dead when the lids slammed shut, the tremendous boom drowning out the thunder, but others struggled, lashing out with what little energy they could summon. A black hand struggled against its attackers, desperately trying to get free while still holding back its power, not wanting to hurt the people who would readily hurt it.

One by one the lids slammed shut and were lowered into the ground, the piercing screams quieted by the thrum of water cascading down into the deep graves.

_Do not fear the sound, it's a breeze _

_Brushing leaves against the door. _

_Do not dread the murmuring seas, _

_Lonely waves washing the shore. _

_Sleep child mine, there's nothing here, _

_While in slumber at my breast, _

_Angels smiling, have no fear, _

_Holy angels guard your rest. _

"Sleep well."

**Amen.**


	4. Chapter 4

Musician

Musician 

On the dead moor only a few blackened trees still stood, their twisted branches groaning as they bent, dead leaves dancing around their bases. On one of the largest trees, a notice had been pinned, it's edges ripped where the wind had tugged on it, and the colors washes away by the relentless rain and perpetual mists that spiraled across the ground, snatching at cloaks and reaching for hearts… hearts…

As a gust of wind sweeps through the moor, cutting through fog and forcing rain against the gnarled trunks of rotting trees, the poster is caught up, twirled into the air with the soft rustle of worn paper as it fluttered on the breeze, falling… falling…

The discolored picture floated away, twisting and twirling to the strange melody that played over the land, drawing the listener forward toward the haunting tune's source, as it captured your mind and ensnared you heart, pushing you and pulling you forever onward… onward…

The music had a creepy quality to it, an eerie texture and tone that wound its way inside your head and drew you closer… closer….

An old sign flickered in the damp; the sign illuminated by the dimming street lamp was faded from rain. The words were barely visible on the wood grain, washed out colors gave the impression of an era long past. And the creaking of the sign was the wind sighing…. sighing…

And still the music moved, dancing on the frigid wind and beckoning… beckoning…

While the creak of rotten floorboards rang in the still, dank air, the music grew and grew again. Every note was a drug to the senses, making spark flash and feeling snap. Addicting as ever, the music continued while the light dimmed to a low quaver of a lantern, held by an old man. The shrouded old creature gestured to follow… follow…

And the faded red velvet of the curtains and the frayed gold rope that held them like the embrace of a lover looked new and unmarred by the seductive kiss of age in the light of the swinging lantern. Upon the stage the musician played, his mind the music, his fingers the notes, his voice the bars and tempo while his feet tapped to the beat of the whole world's heart. He and the music, one and all together. His music the music of life, brining old to new and new to old again and again forever and always… always…

As the music came to a jolting halt the musician stood up, sweeping his black silk hat from his head in a single graceful movement. The silver hair of a master glowed and twinkled like his gray-blue eyes as he began to fade. The concert of the world was coming to an end… end…

"_Thank you…" Thank you…_


	5. Chapter 5

Rose Cottage

A strange place. A strange place filled with twists and turns. A strange place where almost every passageway ended suddenly after a sharp corner. A strange place for someone with a shadow to be lost. All it was was a small shape, a tiny shadow sliding over the walls, following and closing in. But she ran, always running, terrified for something other than her life.

_Ring around the rosy_

It was a vast place. A vast place full of brilliant light and high vaulted windows. A vast place that was closed to the rest of the world. Despite the cheerfulness of the open windows, of the wind that blew softly through the thick petals of the blooming trees, and of the muffled bird-song that floated on the air, an intense feeling of hatred taunted the sun as it chased the fleeing figure in the form of a mass less shadow.

_Pockets full of posies_

Up ahead, a door, solitary, unmarked, unopened but unlocked. This was known with the certainty of life itself, although how it was known was yet to be seen. As a hand was reached out in desperation, for if it just made it to the door everything would end happily, the door, the walls, the ceiling, and the floor began to sag and drip, crumbling into the darkness as great globules of colored woodwork dropped past, their colors mixing as they fell. Space crumbled and sent her falling away into the shadow which opened up to accept her, closing and turning dark with unthinking relish.

_Ashes Ashes _

The sweet, cloying smell of roses, so strong as to be suffocating, awoke her from the silence to the darkness. Strained eyelids fluttered, long lashes quavered as the darkness pressed in, illuminated slightly by the blue-black moon.

_We all fall down_

A broken world, parading its shattered glory before her haunted eyes, a mismatched image of something to come. The silent scream wrenched the damp air, and hand tried to hide from the images that laughed before her.

_Heee…_

The darkness mocked the farseeing, for what was there to see after the end? Then the darkness swallowed her again, and the world faded to nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

Rose Cottage

A strange place. A strange place filled with twists and turns. A strange place where almost every passageway ended suddenly after a sharp corner. A strange place for someone with a shadow to be lost. All it was was a small shape, a tiny shadow sliding over the walls, following and closing in. But she ran, always running, terrified for something other than her life.

_Ring around the rosy_

It was a vast place. A vast place full of brilliant light and high vaulted windows. A vast place that was closed to the rest of the world. Despite the cheerfulness of the open windows, of the wind that blew softly through the thick petals of the blooming trees, and of the muffled bird-song that floated on the air, an intense feeling of hatred taunted the sun as it chased the fleeing figure in the form of a mass less shadow.

_Pockets full of posies_

Up ahead, a door, solitary, unmarked, unopened but unlocked. This was known with the certainty of life itself, although how it was known was yet to be seen. As a hand was reached out in desperation, for if it just made it to the door everything would end happily, the door, the walls, the ceiling, and the floor began to sag and drip, crumbling into the darkness as great globules of colored woodwork dropped past, their colors mixing as they fell. Space crumbled and sent her falling away into the shadow which opened up to accept her, closing and turning dark with unthinking relish.

_Ashes Ashes _

The sweet, cloying smell of roses, so strong as to be suffocating, awoke her from the silence to the darkness. Strained eyelids fluttered, long lashes quavered as the darkness pressed in, illuminated slightly by the blue-black moon.

_We all fall down_

A broken world, parading its shattered glory before her haunted eyes, a mismatched image of something to come. The silent scream wrenched the damp air, and hand tried to hide from the images that laughed before her.

_Heee…_

The darkness mocked the farseeing, for what was there to see after the end? Then the darkness swallowed her again, and the world faded to nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

Dead Man Walking

Dead Man Walking

He was a dead man walking, his movements stiff and uncoordinated. The grace that had flowed from his movements before was now gone. Gone like the light that had been burning brightly before it was snuffed out in a single movement. He was a dead man with dead eyes.

_Look at the coffin, with golden handles  
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?_

Too much pain. Too much suffering. The toll it took was unimaginable except to those that had watched, and all of those were gone. They had fled to god long ago, unable to remain, but if god resided above or bellow was yet to be seen.

_Let's not have a sniffle, let's have a bloody-good cry  
And always remember: The longer you live  
The sooner you'll bloody-well die_

But he was a dead man walking, and emotions were wasted as the scream of tormented metal mingled with the wails of forgotten souls. The cut strings had reattached the ends to itself and the puppet had become its own puppeteer, for dead men could never see nor hear.

_Look at the flowers, all bloody withered  
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?_

A single point of light illuminated the battle between the living and the dead, but now the lines were blurred, the fighters, the dancers, the comrades in arms the one and the same as they exchanged blows in that point of light. As they danced back and forth shapes would appear beneath their feet, once recognizable but now without soul or reason. They were just shapes.

_Let's not have a sniffle, let's have a bloody-good cry  
And always remember: The longer you live  
The sooner you'll bloody-well die _

All around the ghosts were still fighting, although for what was unknown. Sides and views no longer mattered. Emotions were forgotten. All there was was the fight, and fight they would. No rest for dead men walking.

_Look at the mourners, bloody-great hypocrites  
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?_

It listened to the heart, even if the heart had stopped. The echoing cry would continue on forever, unable to be heard but somehow felt. Never recognized but somehow learned. Again and again frozen limbs were forced into action, parrying blows and delivering twice as much back. A whirling dance for all eternity.

_Let's not have a sniffle, let's have a bloody-good cry  
And always remember: The longer you live  
The sooner you'll bloody-well die_

Dead eyes hidden behind a dead mask, concealing the hero until it was time to lie down and die. Grace had left the dance, but the pattern remained behind, engraved into the swollen minds of those still watching from the darkness. The shadows that neither fought nor wept, because they had been the ones chosen to never die.

_Look at the preacher, a bloody-nice fellow  
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?_

So, with a silent audience and a broken army the dancers continued on, unable to stop, unable to sustain the powerful blows that were administered. Never to break, the world froze in that moment where the exchange took place. Everything was unable to continue without knowing, and the knowing was never going to happen.

_Let's not have a sniffle, let's have a bloody-good cry  
And always remember: The longer you live  
The sooner you'll bloody-well die_

Dead eyes could never see, so there was no use in words.

_Look at the widow, bloody-great female  
Isn't it grand, boys, to be bloody-well dead?_

There would never be rest for Dead Men Walking.

_Let's not have a sniffle, let's have a bloody-good cry  
And always remember: The longer you live  
The sooner you'll bloody-well die_


	8. Chapter 8

Emptiness

Blood? What blood? Here there was no physical pain. No mutilation of the precious ivory skin, not a hair out of place. No. Here, there was no pain. No _physical _pain. Inside the mind was a different matter. Inside the mind, _others_ ruled. And their rule was one of iron control. Pain and punishment danced hand and hand across the consciousness, laughing insanely as they passed.

_Crowded streets are cleared away_

_One by one_

_Hollow heroes separate_

_As they run_

But, while there was no pain, there was physical manifestation of the mind. In this one dark corner of this one dark place, light blossomed briefly, its cold reality illuminating a picture of twisted truth. Because, in this place of black and white, light was a place for the dead, not the living.

_You're so cold_

_Keep your hand in mine_

_Wise men wonder while strong men die_

And this warped picture showed the torso of a man, his body fading away into the black. His shirt his skin, his heart visible through the bleached bones of his ribcage. Bright eyes staring at nothing, the sparks of intelligence that separated this creature from beast sparkling like ice cold diamonds.

_Show me how it ends, It's alright_

_Show me how defenseless you really are_

_Satisfy an empty inside_

_Well that's alright_

_Let's give this another try_

The only movement was the beating heart, skin pulled back by pale hands to reveal the center of being. The pulse was slow and uneven, the fluttering being holding the only color in the world of black and white. The splash of crimson was painful to see, although strangely beautiful.

_If you find your family_

_Don't you cry_

_In this land of make believe_

_Dead and dry_

_You're so cold_

_but you feel alive_

_Lay your hand on me_

_One last time_

However, the stunning image was not to last. Even now the cold black tendrils of pain streaked across the color, their vice-like grip stronger than ideas or thoughts. The intelligent eyes of the mind dulled, the entire body falling limp as the ivory skin began to crumble away when the black snapped shut across the color, blocking it, covering it, hiding it, destroying it.

_Show me how it ends, It's alright_

_Show me how defenseless you really are_

_Satisfy an empty inside_

_Well that's alright_

_Let's give this another try_

And in this instant, the light died.

_Show me how it ends, It's alright_

_Show me how defenseless you really are_

_Satisfy an empty inside_

_Well that's alright_

_Let's give this another try_

**Hello? **

**...**

**It's so cold...**

_It's Alright_

**So... empty...**

((Lyrics from Breaking Benjamin's Song: "So Cold"))


End file.
